married to a girl as pennyless as himself, and not very good-looking, nor very witty-for what can a poor devil expect? And then a child came popping in upon him every year, till his brain whirled round at such a rate, that all the lurking ideas were stirred up from the bottom, and came dancing to the surface. It was then he began to make the rats demolish themselves; then he built a carriage which could go alone without horses; and then he contrived a machine to make the water of the Seine play upon the naked rocks two hundred feet above the level of the town. All was unavailing. The stupid Andelians did not think the rats worth powder and shot; the self-moving vehicle was of no use in their agricultural affairs; and as for the rocks, they were watered well enough with the rain of heaven.

Blanchard-for that was the poor man's name was in despair; when just then he heard that Montgolfier had made public his invention of the balloon at Paris. This was a terrible blow to our self-taught contriver; for he had long ago hit upon the idea of this aerial vessel himself, and only delayed announcing it to the world till he should fall upon some means of navigating his balloon through the air.

What was the origin of Blanchard's idea, it is hard to say. As for Montgolfier, he was one day boiling his own coffee, and chancing to cover the pot, when the liquid was in a state of ebullition, with a conical piece of paper, the hollow lid was carried up, and supported in the air, by the force of the steam. This was the simple fact from which his system proceeded. He

immediately constructed a car of painted cloth, above which he attached an immense globe of oiled taffeta, communicating with a chafing dish below the car. After a few experiments, he seated himself in the car, with a courage which was nothing less than sublime, and then set fire to the substance in the chafing-dish. As the vapour ascended into the globe of taffeta, it became gradually distended, and at length, rising from the earth, the whole machine soared up into the clouds.

Blanchard's mortification at the success of his rival was somewhat alleviated by the consideration, that this success was only of a partial nature. Montgolfier, it was true, had ascended into the air; but any body could do that. The question was, how to navigate the balloon like a ship? This idea, certain authors tell us, was the consequence of his want of education, which prevented him from recognising the difference in the nature of the two elements of air and water. For our

part, we humbly opine, that the analogy between these two elements is much more strict than such writers suppose. The difference, as regards balloons, does not lie in the circumstance of currents and counter-currents being peculiar to air; for, in fact, they are common, in a greater or less degree, to both; but it consists in the ship being propelled on the surface of the sea, while the air-vessel is liable to the varying tides of the whole body of the atmosphere. Whether the secret of air-navigation will ever be discovered, or whether there be such a secret at all, we cannot say; but no person, is to be presumed, who has lived in the nineteenth

it

century will venture to say that any thing is impossible.

Blanchard, however, contrived to get to Paris with his vaisseau volant, and made as much clamour as he could about his right to the invention. The thing was new in those days, and surrounded with a mystery similar to that which once enveloped the philosopher's stone and the elixir vitæ. All the world, therefore, listened to him; and when he appointed a day in the month of November 1783 for his first ascent, all the world ran eagerly to gaze on the spectacle. Every thing was ready; the public expectation was at its height, when, suddenly, a youth of fourteen or fifteen years of age, a pupil of the military school, rushed through the crowd, and leaped into the car.

The haste of the intruder was fatal to the experiment; for he broke one of the wings by means of which the balloon was to have been navigated, and the expedition was at an end. The name of this young enthusiast was Napoleon Buonaparte. His subsequent attempts to soar were more successful; but his fate was very different from that of the aeronaut. Blanchard ascended seventy times, and died victorious" the idol," as an awkward fool of a poet has said, “ and Archimedes of the French." Napoleon took one flight and fell many, - to rise no more!

too

Blanchard repaired his vaisseau volant, and, three months afterwards, ascended from the Champ de Mars, in the midst of an immense concourse of spectators. Soon after, he crossed the Channel in his balloon, and arrived in England. He then recrossed it, and returned

safely to France. This was the merit of his fortune, and of the winds, for he never could find out how to direct his aerial vessel. Nevertheless, he was a brave and illustrious man; riches and honours were showered upon him wherever he went; and when, at last, the poor cotton-twister - the despised rat-trapper-the famished GENIUS (for this is the climax of ridicule and contempt!)-returned to his native place, the bells were rung, and he was led in triumphant procession through the streets. Great God, what a moment was that! What insignificant creatures must the princes of the earth have appeared that day in the eyes of Blanchard!

CHAPTER III.

CASTLE INSOLENT.

THE Norman conquest of England had the effect of placing France in a very extraordinary and critical position. The latter country, in fact, was at one time almost surrounded, except on the Rhineward side, by the dependencies of the new power; while Normandy, divided only by a narrow channel from the seat of empire, served as a point d'appui for the continental enemies of France. Normandy was the key to the English possessions on the mainland of Europe; it was therefore an object of intense interest to the French kings; and, more especially, its frontier line towards France was watched with all the feverish pertinacity of terror, jealousy, and inextinguishable hate.

In this state of affairs it is difficult to imagine how so politic a prince as Philippe-Auguste allowed himself to give up, as the dowry of his sister Alix, whom he married to Richard Cœur de Lion, the strong fortress of Gisors, a place which seemed intended, both by nature and art, for one of the most important barriers of Normandy. At any rate, he was not slow in redeeming his false step. No sooner did the intelligence reach him that "the Lion was chained," than he mustered an army, and marched direct upon Gisors.